


Meeting in Death

by Annide



Series: Filing The Holes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Moriarty, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annide/pseuds/Annide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About a year after Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock runs into Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting in Death

Sherlock had been dead for almost a year and he was exhausted. Exhausted because of all the work he was putting in dismantling Moriarty’s network. Exhausted because he was alone all the time and he just realised how much he enjoyed company. Exhausted because he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about John who was miserable the last time he saw him, in the cemetery. Exhausted because he wanted drugs so bad and he had to fight the urge to take some constantly. He was simply exhausted, so he decided to stop for a while and just squat in this abandoned building.

One night, he was just lying on the floor, on top of his sleeping bag, after having gotten drunk earlier in the evening. He hadn’t shaved in a week and hadn’t had a real shower in he didn’t know how long. Sherlock was dirty, still half drunk and terribly tired when someone entered the room. Of course, he’d heard steps around but he didn’t pay much attention to them. This was an abandoned building; he wasn’t the only person spending his nights there, or his days for that matter. Sherlock turned to look at the newcomer only because the man let himself fall on the floor right next to him, instead of in another corner of the room like it was customary.

“Moriarty?”

The man before him had the same week old stubble as he did. But, while Sherlock had found clothes that allowed him to disappear with the homeless, Moriarty was still wearing the same suit he had on the roof nearly a year ago. The classy outfit was incredibly dirty but it still made the man wearing it stand out in the filth and wreck of the abandoned building. The criminal, lying on his back now, turned his head toward the detective and simply said:

“Oh Sherlock, I see you faked too.”

“Yes. You didn’t leave me any other choice, did you? I thought you really were dead.”

“Well, why would I do that? Are you going to finish the job now?”

“Finish the job?”

“Kill me.”

Moriarty didn’t say it as a statement but more like a request. Some part of him wanted this to be all over, because honestly, he was exhausted too. And after a short moment to let the words sink in Sherlock’s mind, he lifted up his shirt to reveal a bleeding gap in his abdomen. A stab wound. Sherlock thought for a second, maybe the criminal had done this to himself, but it was obvious from the angle of the wound that he couldn’t have. He looked at it for a good minute before doing the only thing he could do in this situation. He sat up and took a small bag out of his coat pocket. Not the same coat he had in London but a more practical one, warmer and with several more pockets. He opened the bag and took a needle and dental floss from it. He reached inside his sleeping bag to grab the almost empty bottle of alcohol he had meant to finish drinking when the nightmares would wake him. Instead, he emptied the liquid on the wound before he started stitching it, a little clumsy in his movement because he really wasn’t sober. Moriarty just lied there, mostly still as he looked up at Sherlock in surprise. Why was the detective saving his enemy? None of the men really knew, not consciously anyway. The truth is, their story just couldn’t end like this, with one of them cowardly killing or letting die the weakened other. They were both better than that.

When Sherlock was done, Moriarty just kept staring at him, his eyes full of gratitude. He was fascinated to see that the man he forced to fake his own suicide by threatening to kill his boyfriend and all his friends just saved his life. The detective stared back for a while, confusion written all over his face as he didn’t understand the sweetness in the other man’s eyes. Sherlock went back to lay on his sleeping bag, the criminal’s stare never letting go of him as they both fell asleep.

None of the men got much sleep that night. They both had nightmares and when one of them woke up screaming, it would wake the other one as well. This was the reason no one had been sharing the door less room with Sherlock before Moriarty arrived. Several men had tried at first, but left when they were struck with the impossibility to sleep there. The word had gone around in the homeless community and they stopped even going near that room days ago. Every time the two men awoke, in sweat and screams, they turned to face the other and looked in each other’s eyes until they both went back to sleep. They had a silent understanding that this was a truce and they’d go through this together before separating and going back to being enemies. They never talked about their nightmares, it didn’t matter. All that did matter was that they were both hiding, they both had a reason to do so, they both had a rough year and they both left something behind when they faked their suicide up on that roof. What was in their nightmares wasn’t important, the same things were causing them for both men and this had all the importance as it brought them together, as a team fighting the same demons.

As Moriarty’s injury still gave him trouble standing up, Sherlock went by himself to find food for them both. Not that he’d go with the criminal anyway, that idiot would only bring attention to them with this ridiculously dirty suit. Sherlock did try convincing him to change but Moriarty wouldn’t budge, it seemed he got attached to the thing. The detective even tried to take off the suit off the man himself but the criminal almost ripped off his stitches fighting him off. There was no getting rid of the classy outfit, even after Sherlock threw a bucket of water on it, trying to make it at least a little cleaner. Moriarty wouldn’t even take it off to let it dry. The wet clothes and the cold air coming from the broken window started to make him sick and Sherlock had to take him in his sleeping bag so his body could help the criminal stay warm. The detective almost gave up and left. Moriarty was making it unnecessarily difficult to keep him alive and it seemed purposeless to put so much effort into it since they’d probably end up trying to kill each other again once all of this would be over.

Weeks passed while Moriarty healed. At first, only a few words were exchanged but, as time passed, the two men started mentioning things every once in a while, more and more often, until they ended up having full conversations. Sherlock stayed even after Moriarty got well enough to take care of himself. He had been lonely this past year and, frankly, he was enjoying his time in this room, it was a good distraction from the drugs’ cravings. He even found himself laughing from time to time. It felt good. It felt like every time a laugh escaped his lips, his broken heart was fixing itself. Sure, in the silence of the night, the memories of laughing with John came back to haunt him, but as time passed, it hurt less and less, though his heart still ached for the presence of the doctor at his side. No new friend could ever replace John. Because John had been his first true friend. John had been the one who showed him people at his side could actually be a good thing and he was the one who taught him what friendship meant.

Moriarty was aware of the detective’s loneliness and, because he was grateful for him saving his life and was a bit lonely himself, he didn’t leave as soon as he was able to; he decided to stay while he was still on the mend. The two men had much in common and Moriarty found their conversations interesting and, to be honest, he enjoyed this as much as Sherlock did. With time, he noticed the detective starting to move on as they grew closer.

By the time Moriarty was completely healed and both men were ready to leave the abandoned building, they had developed a real friendship. Deciding to let it go was hard for both of them. This room had become like an oasis in the middle of the desert. It was a safe and familiar place after all this time of wandering around all of Europe, never knowing where they’d spend the night. And, most of all, they weren’t alone here, they had each other. But they couldn’t stay there forever, they still had stuff to do before they could go back to London, which they never talked about, and they were still hiding from the world. Staying in one place too long was dangerous.

“Goodbye, Jim”

“See you, Sherlock”

On these words, they went their own way, back to the loneliness of death, with a new found energy. Their time in the abandoned building had allowed them to breathe and they were ready for whatever would follow.


End file.
